Adventures in hurt-comfort
by MoonyEstelChase
Summary: An experiment in whump. Or, five times Newkirk needed "assistance" (his words, not mine) and one time the others needed his. Bumped up the rating due to Newkirk's foul mouth. And accident-proneness.
1. Depressing

**A/N** I've really been wanting to write some h/c. We'll see how this turns out :)

So, for this first one, I'm giving Newkirk a severe case of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). It's basically a winter funk. Usually the symptoms are mild: irritability, vague unhappiness, anxiety. But severe cases include symptoms such as: Feeling hopeless or worthless, low energy, insomnia, changes in appetite, agitation, extreme reactions to other's opinions, depression, and possibly suicidal thoughts.

Special thanks to Arwen2712 for advice on the French sections. Your help was invaluable!

 **1.**

It had been four days since he had last slept. But he couldn't allow himself to rest. The nightmares might be present during the day, but dreams attacked with a vengeance at night. The dark swirling of his mind reminded him why he could not sleep. His demons attacked him; great black wings pushing waves of despair, cruel talons puncturing his soul with hopelessness, a spiked tail whipping him with dread.

Newkirk didn't know why this happened to him. But it did. Whenever the weather grew cold, his thoughts grew dark. It was worse here in Germany, for a number of reasons; hunger, cold, not to mention being held prisoner in a foreign country. Before Colonel Hogan had come, Newkirk had seriously considered making the pain leave, permanently. Although he could function much better now, and his friends still hadn't realized there was sometimes some other reason for his pessimism, the overwhelming emotions still came, every winter, as always.

This week had been particularly bad. At roll call, Newkirk had barely remained standing. It was getting harder to control the tremors in his hands. When he had been called out by Hogan for being a Debbie Downer, he'd rushed out as quickly as possible to hide the irrational anguish he knew was showing in his eyes.

Right now, Newkirk was curled up behind the delousing station, near trembling with groundless anxieties. Staring off in the distance, he was contemplating some very serious topics when he very nearly jumped out of his skin as a red beret popped into his line of vision. "Bloody … Louis, you just about gave me a 'eart attack!"

LeBeau did not seem apologetic in the least. "Well, if you weren't hiding, I would not have frightened you." He answered heatedly. As the Frenchman started to turn away, Newkirk's bloodshot eyes caught his gaze. Probably one of the most observant heroes, LeBeau also noticed his friend's slumped shoulders and bowed head.

Newkirk's gaze was again raised when LeBeau settled beside him. The Englishman became defensive, putting himself on guard for the inevitable "buck up". "What do you want?"

LeBeau looked him in the eyes and simply said, "What's troubling you, _mon ami_?" And that was enough to break him. Newkirk had to look away to hide the tears. Such an honest, plain question had never been posed to him before. Most people who had attempted to "help" him had told Newkirk to calm down (like he wasn't already trying!) or assumed that he wanted others to stay away and avoid him.

"I … eh, I don't have a short explanation. It's complicated."

"I have time."

So Newkirk began to explain. The gloom that weighted on his heart. The always underlying anxiety. The terrible ideas that stayed with him. The feelings of _panicterrorloneliness._

LeBeau sat in shock for several seconds, then quietly swore. " _Triple Buse!_ _Bougre_ _d'âne!_ _Pourquoi_ _tu_ _ne me l'as_ _pas dit_ _avant?*_ You idiot!"

Newkirk braced for the inevitable verbal blow.

A small arm snaked around his shaking shoulders. LeBeau pushed Newkirk's chin up, forcing him to look into the Frenchman's eyes. "Newkirk. Never hide something that important from me again." Newkirk withered inside, waiting for the rant about his weakness.

Instead, he heard something he couldn't believe. Was LeBeau saying sorry? "For what?" A visibly bemused Newkirk asked.

LeBeau smiled sadly. "That I never noticed you needed help. I have known you longer than any of the others. I have no excuse. Will you forgive me?" All Newkirk could do was nod his head in gratitude for this friend he didn't deserve.

LeBeau smiled again, this time genuinely.

The two men continued to sit in silence for a while, Newkirk with his eyes closed, trying to enjoy the short burst of sunlight. He could hear LeBeau moving positions. Eventually, Newkirk cracked an eye open. "You can leave, mate. You don't 'ave to watch me sit 'ere."

LeBeau protested half-heartedly.

"Really, mate. I'll be fine"

"But I don't want to leave you alone."

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "You obviously have better things to do."

Lebeau looked offended. "Newkirk, _tu_ _sais_ _que je_ _te_ _considères_ _comme_ _mon frère_?* Nothing I could be doing right now is more important than spending time with you."

Newkirk's answer was drowned out by the voice of Hogan calling Lebeau. "Unless, of course, _mon colonel_ is wanting me to bribe Shultz," LeBeau sighed. He made to get up, then stopped. "Oh! _Je_ _viens_ _d'avoir_ _une_ _idée brillante!*_ You should help me cook Shultz' food!"

Newkirk viewed the barracks skeptically. "I'm no chef."

A smile so big it almost looked deranged appeared on LeBeau's face. "I can fix that! We can do it in an hour or two."

If only.

Three hours, five arguments, one Brit narrowly escaping a concussion, and one nearly fuming LeBeau later, the results of their labor were produced: three Scotch eggs and one small Yorkshire pudding. Although a disapproving Frenchman almost vomited, the comfort food longed for by the resident _barbare culinaire*_ had been finished.

Shultz appreciated the different food (though he did say that apple strudel was much better). Even though LeBeau might have refused to touch the "food" with a stick, his main goal of preoccupying Newkirk had been achieved. And if one of the eggs and half of the pudding had mysteriously disappear, Shultz never found out.

*According to Arwen2712, the first insult means Newkirk is being really stupid without meaning to. The second has something to do with being a donkey. The last sentence means "Why didn't you tell me before?"

*Don't you know I consider you a brother?

*Oh! I just had a brilliant idea!

*Culinary barbarian


	2. Stabbing

**A/N** You know you are an idiot when you are working on three stories at once, ensuring you never get to update any of them. I'm seriously having to pace myself and not burn out all my ideas at once. Here's to hoping this chapter is as well received as the last!

* * *

 **2.**

"Don't you dare pass out, Newkirk! Come on, keep those eyes open."

He didn't know … what was wrong?

"Newkirk, I think you're going into shock. Open your eyes; talk to me. Explain toad-in-a-hole again. Something!"

Wait, was the voice talking to him?

"I'm ordering you to respond. Newkirk!" The voice sounded scared. Worried. Oh well, maybe if he took a nap …

Sudden pain spiked in the face of his otherwise numb body. His eyes opened involuntarily. A relieved sigh answered his grunt of confusion. "Thank God. Hey, up here." A gentle hand pried his eyelids open further.

As his eyes adjusted, he noticed a harrowed face looking into his eyes. "I ... what?" He gasped.

The man scrubbed his face. "You got stabbed, then fell headlong into a rock. How are you feeling? Besides the obvious, of course."

"I'm … doesn't hurt … just tired."

Another light slap startled him awake. When had his eyes closed? The man … brown jacket, eagles. Oh! The Colonel. Uh, Hogan. That's his name.

"Don't go to sleep."

" But 'm tired …"

Hogan looked nervously around and mumbled something about a cinch? A pinch? Something like that. And a carter. Why'd he need one of those? The ground was soft and squishy. Warm, too. It felt good to his exhausted mind. And though he heard the alarmed sounds coming from Hogan, he drifted off to inorexable shadow **.**

-xXxXxXxXxXx-

 _If_ _Oberstleutnant*_ _Pohl_ _were any angrier, Koch thought that the man's_ _eyes would pop out of his head. "Did you hear me? I want those plans; NOW!"_

 _Pohl's dark eyes glinted. This_ _man_ _made_ _Koch want to tremble, but he concluded it would probably be best to obey his superiors. "I'm sorry sir. I cannot give those the papers to you. I have orders that …"_

 _Koch jumped in surprise as Pohl slammed his hand onto the desk. "I expect the plans here in two minutes, understand? If they are not, I hope you have very warm clothing!" The man roared. Pohl's thin aide looked terrified at the outburst and looked at Koch with huge eyes._

 _"Please, Unterfeldwebel*. He does not appreciate waiting. Could you get the plans_ _for_ _him?" The aide begged._

 _"I ..._ _I, well, um ..."_

 _In Koch's_ _head, two debates were raging. He could obey the Lieutenant Colonel and get the plans for the new rocket plant, or he could obey his commander, Major Klein. Either choice would probably end badly for him, with an end result of the Russian_ _Front._ _In the end, Pohl's superior rank was what convinced him._ _Koch_ _reluctantly rose_ _to retrieve the plans. The mahogany chair_ _creaked when relieved of his weight._

 _But as he left the lobby, Koch heard something odd. The aide turned to Pohl and said something softly in … English? Surely not. But if he did, then …_

 _The_ _two men straightened up as Koch reentered the room. Pohl's eyes lit_ _greedily as he saw the rolled paper in Koch's hand. "Finally! What is this world coming to,_ _Huber?" Pohl said as he addressed_ _his aide._

 _"I wouldn't know, sir."_

 _Pohl snorted, then reached for the plans. Koch prayed his hunch was right as he kept them out of the_ _Lieutenant Colone_ _l's reach. Surprise flooded Pohl's eyes, quickly_ _replaced with fury. "What is this?"_

 _"I'm sorry, sir," Koch replied, tentatively. "I will have to accompany you to ensure these plans are not stolen." Both men stared open-mouthed at his stern face._

 _"Are you denying me something?" Pohl sounded shocked._

 _Koch shook his head. "No sir. You may have them, I only must come with you." Huber and Pohl_ _exchanged looks, and Koch held his breath. He knew he was one step away from being transferred. But, then again, if his theory was correct,_ _he would be rewarded._

 _Pohl looked up. "Fine. I am leaving now." And with an almost regal flourish, he stomped to the car._

 _As the aide, Huber, drove, a thick silence filled the car. Tree after tree was passed._ _After a good 15 miles of wooded lane, the car pulled off to a ditch by the road. Pohl ordered_ _Koch out of the car. The men faced off, staring. And almost at once, they pulled their guns. Huber watched Pohl worriedly._

 _"Ok, what do you want? Money?"_

 _Koch laughed derisively. "I want you dead. I knew you_ _were Amerikaner_ _when I_ _heard you talking in the hotel. You will not have these plans."_

 _Huber snorted exasperatedly. "Listen 'ere. I'm no Yank, and don't forget it." He didn't notice his slip into English._

 _Pohl groaned and turned slightly_ _to peer at the Englisher. "Really?"_

 _The turn was all it took for the world to dissolve into chaos. Anger and fear split the chilly night. After a few minutes of frenzied fighting that he couldn't remember, Koch ran off, no longer holding a gun, but somehow possessing_ _a dripping knife. He didn't know who he had stabbed, but he hoped it was the arrogant_ _American. He deserved it._

-xXxXxXxXxXx-

Newkirk was feeling very peaceful except for the fact that his torso was on fire, and someone was poking it. His agitated and painfilled moan stopped whoever was hurting him. He let a breath out slowly through his nose before he attempted to crack rock-solid eyelids. The first person his blurry vision saw was his CO's drawn eyes.

"Colonel?" He gasped. Cool hands smoothed his hair and wiped the (how embarrassing) tears of pain from his temples. He then melted into the blanket he knew could not be spared as Hogan tucked it gently around him.

"I'm here."

* * *

*Lieutenant Colonel; a rank below Klink, and a rank above Hochstetter.

*Seargant


	3. Falling

**3.**

 **A/N** Sorry, Newkirk has a pretty dirty mouth. But don't worry, there's a stern!Carter.

* * *

" _Scheisse*_!" was his first thought. Sometimes, when everything goes to pot, there is something so satisfying about cursing in another language. But cursing in English is also satisfying, and as Newkirk is an equal opportunity swearer, he balanced the German with words in his native tongue.

Afterwards, he didn't know what had made Carter's face whiten: the very colorful and vivid obscenities, or the fact that Newkirk had fallen straight down a pit at least 3.5 meters (10 feet). Scratch that, not straight down. Various thick roots were protruding from the soil, ensuring that while Newkirk didn't die, he had certainly become damaged.

But forget Carter; what was really worrying was that Newkirk could no longer move his leg without wanting to wail. He huffed. Damn extremities always getting in the way.

Once he could breathe normally again, Newkirk hazarded a look up to the top of the pit. A pastel face peered back. "New … Newkirk?" Carter's voice trembled. "You're okay?"

Newkirk huffed again. "I didn't die, if that's what you mean. Though I think this leg is buggered. Don't think I'm goin' to be much 'elp to you anymore. Sorry mate."

Carter seemed to calm once he heard the Brit's voice. "Oh, that's okay Newkirk! Don't worry, I'll go find a way to get you out!" He called, eagerly.

"'ey, don't you climb down 'ere; you'll get stuck too."

Carter frowned. "I know that. I'm not stupid."

Newkirk painfully and apologetically smiled. "Sorry." But Carter was not there to hear, having ventured into the trees.

Sitting in the pit, in pain, with dawn rising, alone; Newkirk wasn't typically a person who got nervous, but he started to feel a bit of collywobbles. And an ancy Newkirk is a loud Newkirk. "Well, this is just smashing. You've really done it this time, Newkirk. Trust you to foul up while it's only you and Carter. Alone. In the woods. What a sad arse* you are."

He shifted, then decided that as long as the action continued to nearly make him scream, it would be best to sit still. He continued to sit in the quiet night for quite a while - almost 10 minutes - before he couldn't take it anymore. "Yup, this is boring. CARTER!" Newkirk yelled before remembering that he was in the heart of Nazi Germany. Oh well, c'est la vie*, as LeBeau would say.

However, the words had their desired effect. Carter sprinted to the edge of the hole. "What? You hurt?"

"Yes, but we've already established that. I wanted to know where you were."

Carter gaped. "Why did you yell? We're out of uniform, for goodness sake! If we get caught …"

"Yeah," Newkirk interrupted. "But I want out of 'ere. 'ow close are you to getting' me out?" He looked expectantly at his friend.

A glare settled on Carter's face before he pulled away to wherever he was doing stuff. This time, it was Newkirk who gaped. "'ey! What are you doin'?"

Carter appeared again, fairly spitting out his answer. " _I'm_ making a way for _me_ to pull _you_ out! Stop being a girl! I told you I'd find something; trust me."

Newkirk spluttered, but the American cut of his likely curse-filled response. "No. Stop being crude, sit still, and be patient. I swear, sometimes you act like you're 12!"

Quietude reigned as Carter carefully knotted ivy with the rope he was thankful Colonel Hogan made him bring. Wrap round. Keep in place with your thumb. Wrap the next strand. Do it again. Carter was concentrating so intently on his work, he didn't notice the sun stealthily appearing or Newkirk slyly "helping". Fortunately (or maybe not), Newkirk was not capable of standing, much less pulling himself out, so Carter was alerted to both problems with the pained gasp issuing from Newkirk's lips as he knocked out his stupid thick skull.

"You, you … Argh! How am I supposed to help you now, fat-head*?" Carter grumbled. He searched in the undergrowth for a puddle, worrying that he could actually see the ground. A wet shoe announced the presence of water, which Carter angrily scooped up and tossed down to Newkirk's head, only regretting the action after Newkirk jerked, which elicited a moan. The feeling quickly fled with Newkirk's indelicate remarks.

Carter heaved the looped rope to Newkirk, instructing him with fond annoyance. "Since you can't move your leg, no, you can't, lay down through the coil and maneuver the rope past your quote 'sad arse'."

"… Oh. You were listening?"

"You really think I would leave you, alone and injured?"

"…"

"Ouch."

"Well, I didn't really doubt you, I was just … concerned. It 'appens to everyone. I'm sure even the Colonel has moments where 'e's uneasy. No need to ruffle your feathers." As Newkirk rambled, Carter used a tree branch to help lift Newkirk's prone body. Once he made it past the edge, Carter collapsed, breathing hard.

He was startled by Newkirk's worried green eyes looking into his tired ones. "Alright?"

Carter nodded.

"'ey," Newkirk started. "I'm, well, I'm sorry I didn't trust you. You were right; that shows me lack faith, and I'm sorry, mate. Forgive me?"

Carter smiled. "Forgive and forget. Let's get you back to the Stalag to get that leg fixed up."

Newkirk grinned back. He knew he was lucky to have the kindest, most indulgent friend in the Allied army, and by God, he was grateful.

* * *

*Crap, but not. Don't say this. Really. It's bad.

*Pathetic person

*Such is life. But LeBeau would not say that about Newkirk being bored and yelling in enemy territory; he would have words a bit stronger, directed at Newkirk. Newkirk definitely used that phrase incorrectly.

*Idiot. This was a real American insult in the 40's. I think Carter would have used it.

 **A/N** Hello! Sorry it's been a while since I've updated, work has been killer. And yes, I have two Author's Notes. Just deal with it :)

Kay, so I read this book, and it is amazing. It's called _Wolf by Wolf_ by Ryan Graudin. It's an alternate history of the world; what might have happened if the Axis powers had won. Super cool! You guys should read it. I know if you are reading Hogan's Heroes fanfics, you're probably a WWII buff too, so you might enjoy it.


	4. Burning

**A/N** It can get hot in Germany. Like, 104 degrees hot. And since Newkirk has never (to my knowledge) been subjected to this type of torture, I thought "Why not?". *evil smile*

* * *

 **4.**

Newkirk had never come back from his supposedly routine mission last night (although there were no such things for Hogan's men). Kinch had been searching into the next afternoon, hoping that the Colonel could come up with a suitable excuse for Klink. It took almost the entire day to find the slumped form in the distance.

 _The Nazis had tied him to a post in a large field. And wherever this was going, he wasn't looking forward to it. Though it was just past midnight, he could see their retreating figures as the Nazis left him. "You'll be glad for death by the time we return." He could hear the diminishing voices_ _betting on how long it would take for this mysterious force to break him._

"If you weren't already almost dead, I'd kill you." Kinch complained as he untied Newkirk's limp wrists. The raw flesh under the rope testified to how Newkirk had struggled, and Kinch was pretty sure there wasn't supposed to be so much swelling in someone's hand. But, Newkirk always had been an overachiever. His battered face was lax in unconsciousness; his skin was cool compared to the sun beating down on them. Wait a minute. Cool. Why was his skin so clammy? Newkirk even had goosebumps!

Now, Kinch wasn't a swearing man, but when he really stopped and looked at Newkirk, a profanity was the only way to completely express his feelings in the moment. "Dammit! What did they do?"

 _Now he knew what Private Moore meant when he said "It's hotter than hell and half of Georgia". He'd never been to the Yank's state of Georgia, but if it was even a quarter as bad as this, he'd rather be in Hell. He had been trying to free himself of the rope holding him down, but had only managed to damage his hands. So_ _he had sat in sullen silence, watching the sky lighten._ _The_ _sun had slowly risen, and with it, the unquenchable need for water, shade, anything that would cool him off. He'd never known Germany could be so hot._

As Kinch lifted Newkirk's sagging form, he noticed the Englishman's rapid pulse. This only served to bolster Kinch's firmly entrenched fears that there was something wrong besides just physical abuse come from the Germans. He searched Newkirk's body for any wounds, but other than his wrists and bruised face, there were no observable injuries. And his wrists weren't infected, so what was causing … Kinch looked to the sky.

 _He was bathed in fire. If there was any moisture left, it_ _slowly dissipated_ _with his hopes for rescue. It was hard to remember why he was there, or why he had his own private drum corps performing in his aching skull. His head pounded in time with his rising heartbeat. Then, the brightness was all he could sense; nothing else existed. Just him and the inexorable_ _flame. He could feel little else …_

Kinch had never understood the longing to hurt inanimate objects until now. He glared at the sun for a whole five seconds before he had to look away. Grumbling in anger, he turned his attentions to Newkirk.

 _His sweat-logged clothes dragged him down to visit the darkness of unknowingness. He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, unmoving, but his ever-present_ _enemy was still tracking the sky when he returned to the land of the living. Or dead. It really depended on how you viewed life_ _at this point. But it didn't matter when lost consciousness again._

It took 10 minutes to drag Newkirk to the forest's edge. Newkirk had been less the half a mile from freedom. Knowing his friend's restless spirit, Kinch could just imagine how hard it would have been to sit with no visible boundary to your goal; your need.

But enough with imagination. Newkirk needed real help, not sympathy. The trek back to the stalag passed in a blur, and Wilson's frantic attempts to reduce Newkirk's temperature were only a fuzzy memory. Kinch could however, unfortunately remember Wilson's diagnosis. "He has heat exhaustion. It means his body can't cool itself any more. Thankfully he didn't have a heat stroke, but he still could have dizziness, weakness, thirst, coordination issues, and trouble concentrating for a few hours after he wakes."

Apparently, Newkirk + Sun = Bad Things.

"Don't worry too much. If he drinks plenty and stays cool for the rest of the day, he'll be fine. We just need to make sure he is no longer dehydrated, then he can do whatever he wants."

Hogan shook Wilson's hand. "Thanks, Wilson."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I know it's too much to ask that he rests, so force him to take it easy, sir."

The Colonel smiled. "You can rest assured we will do so."

Kinch was distracted from Wilson's exit by a soft groan issuing from the barely clothed man lying on the cot. "C'mon, Pete. Look me in the eyes and tell me what idiotic thing you did this time."

Though his eyes remained shut, a grin ghosted across Newkirk's drawn face. "'m not shure ya wanna know," he drawled, heavily.

Kinch smiled. "Try me."

"It was a trap. There were Gestapo or somthin' there. You shou' warn Underground. If they get caught..."

"Shhh." Kinch soothed Newkirk's attempt at slurred speech. "Just go back to sleep. You can't cause trouble that way," he joked.

Newkirk graced Kinch's worried ears with a gravelly chuckle before he turned over. The Englishman fell asleep immediately, and the low snores were one of the sweetest sounds Kinch had heard in a while.


	5. Throttling

**5.**

 **A/N** Again, I'm not even going to try to explain where Kinch went. And I didn't know if Baker would swear, but, I mean, he is a soldier …

Sorry this one is shorter. I don't know Baker very well. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ But I do imagine him having some problems living up to Kinch; maybe a lower self confidence?

Oh, just one more note. I upped the story's rating because I realized I used some language that kids probably shouldn't read. I never use any of it IRL because I'm a Christian and I don't believe I should, but I also believe in historical accuracy, and I'm pretty sure Newkirk would be the subject of many curses :)

* * *

It was awfully quiet. Newkirk had been supposed to check in 8 minutes ago, and though he could get lazy, if it was this long a wait, something was up. Baker knew he wasn't supposed to leave the rendezvous, but …

Baker crept towards the ammo dump stealthily. The hole that Newkirk had cut in the chain wire rattled softly as he crawled through. He looked around. No guards. Baker felt the radio's knobs, reassuring himself.

He lost the feeling when he saw Newkirk's limp body lying on the ground. He rushed over. "Newkirk! Eyes open." Baker found the fluttering pulse, but something else was off.

Silence.

"Oh no. Absolutely not. Breathe, Newkirk!" The dark blue line around his friend's throat convinced Baker that the Englishman had been strangled. "If you don't breathe, your brain will die and your heart will stop. Now, breathe!"

Silence.

"Dammit!" In terror and desperation, Baker pushed Newkirk's stomach; hard. The forceful hit induced the gasp that would forever live in Baker's memory as one of the most exquisite sounds ever made.

Breath.

Though he was now breathing - for which Baker would be eternally grateful - Newkirk remained unconscious. Which meant that Baker would have to carry him. Through an ammo dump (guarded by Nazis), a forest (guarded by Nazis), and into a prison camp (also guarded by Nazis). Just great.

Breath.

He never was sure how he had done it. The trip back to Stalag 13 with a floppy Newkirk was a new experience. At least for him. And the only thing Baker had going for him was the lack of moon and limited knowledge of the area.

Breath.

Baker did make it to the stump, however. And it was very nice for once that everyone were such worrywarts, because that meant Newkirk's weight was relieved before he had to climb the ladder. He felt the adrenaline fade before the fifth rung and nearly tipped. After the second ladder climb to the barracks he remembered the night of sleep and two meals he had missed. That bunk looked really tempting. Maybe a nap while the others helped Newkirk.

Silence.

His nightmare was a grey cloud. No sound, no screams, no movement. There was nothing inherently scary about it, but somehow, the nothingness was the horrible part. The quiet woke him. He looked around at the seemingly silent men, all sleeping. Snores and tossing.

Silence.

Getting out of bed, Baker went back down the tunnel entrance. As he peeked in the darkened room he remembered Newkirk being hustled to, he saw LeBeau sitting by a cot. The Frenchman smiled and motioned him over. They watched the steady rise and fall of Newkirk's chest for a while, Baker not daring to glance at the white bandaged throat. LeBeau whispered, "He will not be able to talk for a while, but it looks worse than it is."

"He stopped breathing." Baker admitted.

LeBeau's head whipped down and he glared at Newkirk. Then he turned to Baker and put his hand on the stiff shoulder. "But he is now. And that is because of you. Thank you."

Breath.

Breathing.

Alive.


	6. Tiring

**+1**

The first to be hit was Carter. "Uh, Colonel?"

Hogan continued to work, but motioned him over. "Hmm?"

Carter fidgeted with his sleeve. "I don't think I can come tonight to the mission."

That stopped Hogan, who turned to face Carter. "What?" He asked incredulously. "Carter, you're needed tonight! We have three bombs in specific …"

Interrupting, Carter said, "Yes sir, but I think if I stand much longer, I'll throw up."

Hogan blinked.

"Can I sit?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah. Why would you throw up?"

Carter sighed, then stopped as his face turned green. Hogan leaned away, but Carter motioned that it wouldn't happen; yet. "I think I got what Newkirk had a week ago."

Hogan groaned. "The flu?"

Carter slowly and carefully nodded.

The Colonel yelled for Newkirk. When the Englishman appeared, Hogan motioned to Carter. "Get him comfortable, will you? He's got what you had."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

LeBeau lurched to the coffee-pot. He slowly reached up to pour himself a cup. Hogan noticed the fatigued movements and stopped him. "LeBeau, I don't think you should drink any."

The Frenchman blearily stared at him. "But Colonel, I am so tired today. I think that..."

"You need to sleep," Hogan interjected. "I think you're coming down with the flu also."

Vehemently, LeBeau shook his head. He stopped when the motion propelled him to the ground.

LeBeau weakly shook his fist at Newkirk, who was observing with amusement. "You did this to me!"

Newkirk hopped down from his bunk. "Well, as I remember it, you were the one who yelled in my face to get better. Or maybe that was just an ant; I can't tell what was real or a fever 'allucination." He teased as he helped LeBeau climb into the top bunk.

XXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Hogan had tried to hide it, really. He couldn't afford to get sick, as everyone else was. He was needed to run the camp. But, Murphy always got his way, so sick Hogan had become. But he was going to hide it until Newkirk noticed. The Corporal had become the unofficial caretaker of Barracks 2 in light of the illness; mostly because he was the only one still standing. And Unofficial Medic Newkirk had damn sharp eyes on him.

Klink had quarantined the barracks. That was good - they didn't want the flu to spread - but that meant Wilson wasn't able to see them. Which meant they couldn't tell what was serious. Which meant that everyone had to be watched closely. That's all a very long way of saying that there were few healthy men to spare, and Hogan couldn't admit he was sick.

Hogan coughed into his sleeve. He was doing it all the time now. The cough led to another and another and ...

Newkirk looked at Hogan, whose body was wracked with coughing spasms. He laid a hand on the CO's arm. "Sir, you 'ave to go to bed now. I don't want to make you, but you usually deny illness. And we all see it."

The Colonel tottered, then collapsed in Newkirk's arms. He blinked. "That was much easier than expected. You all right sir?"

No answer.

"Blimey. I think 'e knocked 'imself out!"

XXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The last fall was the mighty Kinch. Befitting a warrior with a strong immune system, the crash was spectacular. All the symptoms presented themselves almost at the same time; Kinch had been dealing to Newkirk in one of the rare moments Olsen wasn't awake to moan, then had suddenly and very nearly exploded into a bloody mess of mucus.

Coughing, sneezing, shivering, vomiting over the cards. Stumbling, tripping with the concerned Brit to his bed. Sleeping, snoring, choking, shaking during the night.

It was nearly 3 hours before Kinch had gotten settled. Then off to the others. Newkirk emptied buckets. He fed water. He changed sheets. He bargained with guards. He covered with blankets. He did everything within his power to make the others comfortable.

At sometime in the blur, it had become morning. Newkirk knocked on the barracks door.

"Shhh!"

Newkirk furrowed his brow. "Shultz?" He whispered.

"Ja."

"Why do I 'ave to be quiet?"

The voice leaned in, conspiratorially. "The men here are sick. You must not bother them. And you cannot come in. It is _Verboten_! A quarantine."

Newkirk sighed rubbed his forehead. "Shultz?"

"Ja."

"I'm already inside the barracks. I live here."

"… Oh. Sorry, Newkirk."

He shook his head, but then remembered Shultz couldn't see it through the door. "It's fine, Shultz. I just wanted the time."

Shuffling sounds. "It is _fünf Uhr morgens._ Five."

"Thanks, Shultzie."

He'd been up and about for what, two days? Yeah, that sounded right. He was pretty knackered. Maybe if he sat down and took a quick nap … He patted Carter's sweaty head as he passed. Sweat was good. That meant he was getting better. It'd be bad if his mate got worse. His tired head was slowly lowering ...

XXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Hogan woke up slowly. He felt like a brigade of Shultzes had built a human pyramid on his head and chest and started dancing. He also had to go to the bathroom. He stumbled out of bed and his office only to stop by the table. Newkirk was slumped over on it; he looked like he had sat down for a breather, but then one of Hogan's Shultz dancers had brained him with a bowling ball.

Wow. If he couldn't come up with a better metaphor than that, he must really be sick.

He turned his thoughts back to Newkirk. The blue chest softly rose and fell, and a brown head shifted on numb arms that pillowed under him. Newkirk honestly looked quite pitiful and adorable simultaneously. Hogan stared in a daze. His thoughts were having a hard time catching up.

Hogan looked at the blanket across his own shoulders. Or tried to, anyway. It took a bit more effort than he would like to lay the blanket over Newkirk's prone body.

"He's been there for the last few hours." LeBeau spoke up. He reminded Hogan of a monster with his bloodshot eyes. "I would have done what you did, but …" he sat and showed the Colonel his quavering hands.

"'s allright," Hogan slurred. He nearly fell over, but caught himself. Well, he actually didn't catch himself, so he fell on top of Newkirk, who jerked awake.

"What in the bloody … Colonel! What're you doin' out of bed, sir?"

"You were cold, so I was covern' you with a blanket."

Newkirk slid the rough cotton off. Gently, he rewrapped it around his CO. "Let's get you back to bed."

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

The flu was completely flushed from the Barracks by the end of the week. Everyone was extremely grateful it was gone, not least of all a certain Corporal. But the others had something else they were thankful for: the dedicated service of Newkirk. If nothing else, this made up for the times when he was a reckless obscene idiot. Though, it wouldn't stop them from yelling when he did something stupid.

And all the boys said "Amen".

* * *

 **A/N** Fun fact: The flu vaccine was invented in 1938 and the soldiers of WWII were some of the first to ever get it (one of the creators also developed the first polio vaccine). But I don't think flu shots were something POWs could look forward to.

I thought all the fluff was so cute :D

So, here we are at the end! How'd you guys like it? Let me know. I had a great ride with ya'll, and I hope you did too :)


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